Big Sky Country

Or, better yet, one of those dime-store disguises with the big plastic nose and mustache attached to a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

Slade’s white, even teeth flashed as he grinned. “Well, now,” he said, still watching her.

Well, now? Just what did that mean?

Joslyn racked her brain, trying to recall if Sheriff Barlow had been caught up in Elliott’s scam, but it didn’t seem likely. He’d grown up in the trailer across the road from Mulligan’s, the shy son of a single mom, holding down a paper route until junior high and washing cars and helping out with hay and wheat harvests after that. He’d driven an old car with rust spots on the chassis and the muffler duct-taped to the undercarriage.

A far cry from the flashy red car she’d been given the day she’d gotten her driver’s license.

Nope, Slade wouldn’t have had the means to sign up for pie-in-the-sky with Elliott Rossiter. Lucky him.

“I was sorry to hear about Elliott,” he said.

Here it comes, Joslyn thought, inwardly bracing herself. “Sorry?” she echoed, stalling.

“That he died?” Slade prompted with just the hint of a grin dancing in his eyes and flirting with the corners of his mouth. For the most part, though, his expression was solemn. Thoughtful. Like she was the last person on earth he’d expected to run into in Parable, Montana, or anywhere else.

“Thanks for not adding ‘in prison,’” Joslyn said, without intending to say any such thing.

“I reckon that part goes without saying,” Slade replied easily. She knew he wanted to ask what she was doing back in Parable, and of course she couldn’t have told him, even if she’d been inclined to do so, because she still didn’t know herself. He nodded, started around her and her cart. “Anyhow, good to see you again,” he said.

It was a lie, of course, though cordially told.

“Same here,” Joslyn fibbed.

She’d have avoided Slade if she could have, but she had to admit, if only to herself, that Callie Barlow’s baby boy had grown up to be one good-looking hunk of cowboy.

Once he’d rounded the display of boxed doughnuts at the end of the aisle, Joslyn tried to concentrate on spices again, but all she added to the seasonings already in her cart were salt and pepper.

The shopping cart wheel creaked and grabbed at the floor with every revolution as she pressed on toward the meat, fish and poultry, showcased in a refrigerated cooler, sure that everyone in the store must be staring at her by now, suddenly recalling her former association with Elliott Rossiter.

She selected a package of tilapia, an organic game hen and some lean hamburger, trying to distract herself by ogling the prices—which were outrageous. She’d go broke if she did all her shopping at Mulligan’s, that was for sure, nostalgia or no nostalgia.

But she didn’t stay distracted for long.

Slade Barlow not only filled her thoughts, he seemed to permeate her body, too, as though there had been some quantum-level exchange of energy.

He was taller than she remembered, broader through the shoulders. It wasn’t even noon, and he had a five o’clock shadow, and, furthermore, that quiet confidence of his both drew her and made her want to sprint in the opposite direction.

What was that about?

She heard him exchange pleasantries with the clerk as he paid for the water, heard the little bell over the front door chime as he went out.

She stood frozen in front of the meat counter, strangely shaken, half expecting the sky to cave in, shattering the not-so-sturdy roof of Mulligan’s Grocery and landing all around her in big, blue chunks snagged with wispy strands of cloud.

“Aren’t you Elliott’s girl?” a quavery female voice asked.

Startled out of her daze, Joslyn turned and saw Daisy Mulligan herself standing at her side, shrunken and white-haired, with pink patches of scalp showing between her pin curls, but very much alive. Her blue eyes were watery behind the old-fashioned frames of her glasses.

Joslyn caught herself just before she would have blurted, “I thought you were dead,” and rummaged up a warm smile, putting out her hand. “Joslyn Kirk,” she said pleasantly. “Elliott was my stepfather.”

Daisy nodded slowly, her rheumy gaze watchful, as she shook Joslyn’s hand. “Nobody around here thought the Rossiter boy would grow up to be a crook,” she remarked. “His father and grandfather were both doctors. Solid citizens. We should have known there was something wrong with Elliott when he didn’t go to medical school.”

Joslyn tried to read the old woman, but it was impossible. Either Mrs. Mulligan was about to shout down the ceiling, calling Joslyn the spawn of Satan and ordering her out of the store, or she was just making conversation.

There was no way to tell.

“And when he didn’t marry a hometown girl,” Daisy added ruefully, following up with a sigh. She looked fragile as a bird in her cardigan sweater and simple cotton dress, though she walked without a cane and her shoes weren’t orthopedic.

Uh-oh, Joslyn thought.

“Not that your mama wasn’t a nice-looking woman,” Daisy allowed.

“Is,” Joslyn corrected awkwardly. “My mother is still—around.”

Daisy reached out and patted Joslyn’s left hand, where it rested on the handle of the rickety shopping cart. “That’s good to know, dear,” she said. Behind the smudged lenses of her glasses, her eyes grew a size. “Some of us thought you’d come back and marry up with Hutch Carmody, since the two of you seemed so crazy about each other, but the majority expected you to steer clear of Parable for good.”

Joslyn gripped the shopping cart handle with both hands now, her knuckles turning white. Daisy went on before she could think of anything to say.

“Fred’s brother-in-law lost a bundle in that mess of Elliott’s,” the old woman reminisced. “Died before that outfit in Denver started sending out checks.”

“Checks?” Joslyn managed, almost croaking the word.

“A settlement,” Daisy Mulligan said. “That’s what the letters from the lawyers said it was. Most everybody Elliott bamboozled got their money back, with interest, but it was too late for some.”

Joslyn’s throat tightened. She swallowed again. She’d known some of the people Elliott had fleeced were gone, known she’d have to face the living ones who remembered. But knowing hadn’t prepared her for the actuality, and neither had all the sensible answers she’d rehearsed on the drive up from Phoenix.

Daisy didn’t break her conversational stride. “Folks figure the tax people or the accountants or somebody must have tracked that money down to some foreign bank where Elliott stashed it before he went to jail, then gone in there and seized every nickel. It was like a miracle when those checks started showing up in people’s mailboxes.”

Joslyn nodded, and her smile felt plastered onto her face, about to crumble and fall away. “That must have been what happened,” she said, though she knew full well that none of the stolen money had been recovered. Elliott had certainly squandered most of it, if not all.

Daisy smiled benignly. “I can’t imagine what you’re doing back here in Parable,” she mused aloud, her tone sweetly confidential, as though she were sharing a secret. In the next instant, her wrinkled face brightened with speculation. “Unless you’re going to marry Hutch Carmody after all,” she said, almost breathless with excitement. “He could sure do with a wife. Might settle him down a little—he’s got that wild streak in him, you know, like his old daddy had. And his mama’s people, why, they might have acted fancy, but they made all their money bootlegging back in the 1920s. Before then, they were nothing but a bunch of hillbillies.”

Joslyn felt like someone trying to board a moving freight train. “Umm—no,” she finally said, stumbling lamely into an answer. “There isn’t going to be a wedding. I mean, Hutch and I are friends, but there’s nothing romantic going on between us.”

Daisy’s eyes twinkled. “Not so far, anyhow,” she said.

With that, having said her piece, Mrs. Mulligan nodded once, turned and walked away.

Joslyn finished her shopping, paid up at the register and headed for her car, pushing that stupid cart through the gravel.

A dog, a thin, dirty yellow Lab with burrs in its coat, sat near the front bumper, like some disconsolate hitchhiker hoping to cadge a ride.

Joslyn hadn’t had a pet since Spunky—she’d been too busy to give a dog or a cat the attention it would need—but she was a soft touch when it came to any animal, especially when it was so obviously down on its luck.

“Hey, buddy,” she said, after putting her groceries in the backseat of the car and pushing the cart aside. She could see that the dog was wearing a collar, and there were tags dangling from it. She could also see his ribs. “Who do you belong to?”

He shivered visibly, but he didn’t run away. Maybe he didn’t have the strength, the poor thing. From the looks of him, he’d been on his own for a while.

The best thing to do, Joslyn instructed herself silently, was get into her car and drive off. Just go home, put away the groceries, check Kendra’s office again and cook something. The dog had tags, after all. Someone would see that he found his way back to wherever he belonged.

Or not.

It was just as likely, she supposed, that he’d been dumped by some heartless jackass who hadn’t bothered to take off the collar. Joslyn took a cautious step toward the creature, one hand extended so he could get her scent. He sniffed her fingers warily, shivered again, but remained where he was.

“You wouldn’t bite me now, would you?” she prattled, moving closer, her hand still in front of the dog’s muzzle. “Because I’m not going to hurt you, fella—I just want a look at those tags, that’s all.”

She crouched in front of him, looked into soulful brown eyes, full of baffled sorrow and the faint hope that some small kindness might befall him. Carefully, Joslyn lifted the first of two tags. The numbers on the pet license had been partially worn away, but the second tag was more informative. The dog’s name was Jasper, and there was a local phone number.

Joslyn rummaged for her cell phone and dialed. One ring. Two. And then a recorded voice, deep and more formal than friendly, sounded in her ear. “This is John Carmody,” the voice said. “I can’t come to the phone right now. Leave your name and all that and I’ll get back to you, if I think it’s a good idea.”

Despite the warmth of that June day, a chill prickled down both Joslyn’s arms, raising the fine hairs as it passed.

She’d been away from Parable for a long time, but she’d known about Hutch’s dad’s death. Kendra had emailed her the news, and she’d sent a condolence card immediately. Obviously, no one had gotten around to erasing Mr. Carmody’s voice mail, with the peculiar result that, even though she knew better, Joslyn felt as if she’d just had a conversation with a dead man.

And here was that dead man’s dog. Not seeing the point of leaving a message, she simply closed the phone and dropped it back into her purse.

“I’m so sorry, boy,” she said, stroking the dog’s head gently.

He shivered again.

She straightened, moved to open the back door of the car and began transferring her grocery bags to the trunk.

Jasper watched her the whole time, still hopeful.

“Come on,” she said, when the backseat was clear. “Let’s get you home to Whisper Creek Ranch.”

Jasper hesitated, as though debating the matter, then limped obediently over and jumped into the backseat, landing with a little whimper.

Was the dog hurt? Should she take him straight to the nearest veterinarian? Her head was beginning to ache.

Joslyn slipped behind the wheel of the car and glanced into the rearview mirror. Jasper’s big mug filled the glass.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” she promised him.

He sighed and settled in to wait for further developments.

Joslyn got her cell phone out again. She didn’t have Hutch’s number, but Kendra was on speed dial.

Her voice mail came on, and Joslyn figured her friend was either at the real-estate closing she’d mentioned earlier or busy showing somebody around the chicken farm.

“Give me a ring, ASAP,” she said. “I need Hutch’s number.”

She hadn’t even gotten out of the lot before Kendra called her back.

“Why?” Kendra asked, not bothering with a hello.

Joslyn stopped the car, making sure she wasn’t blocking incoming or outgoing traffic, and sighed. “Why, what?”

“Why do you need Hutch Carmody’s phone number?” Kendra was probably trying to sound nonchalant, but it wasn’t working.

A slow smile spread across Joslyn’s mouth. Kendra Shepherd and Hutch Carmody? They were polar opposites, those two—she was prim and proper, some would say a control freak, and Hutch was a hell-raiser who liked to take life as it came.

And those things were just the beginning of their differences.

Still, stranger things had happened, especially in the realm of romance.

“I need the number,” Joslyn replied smoothly, “because I’m looking for a night of wild, irresponsible sex, and I figure Hutch will make as good a partner as anybody.”

Kendra sucked in a breath—and then laughed. “Well, if you’re looking for ‘irresponsible,’” she quipped, “Hutch is definitely your man.”

Zing, Joslyn thought, still smiling.

“Actually, I found his father’s dog just now, and the poor thing looks pretty bedraggled and very much in need of some tender loving care.”

“Jasper?” Kendra asked. “You found Jasper?”

“Yes,” Joslyn replied patiently. “That’s what his name tag says. And when I called the number, I got John Carmody’s voice mail.”

“That must have been strange.” There was a pause. “Hold on. I’m scrolling for Hutch’s contact information.”

“Holding,” Joslyn confirmed, thrumming her fingers on the top of the steering wheel.

“555-6298,” Kendra finally said.

Joslyn wrote the number in the dust on the dashboard of her car, using her fingertip for a pen. “Thanks,” she said. “By the way, I checked the office before I left home. Nobody there.”

“That figures,” Kendra said, sounding tired all of a sudden.

Since Kendra was usually annoyingly optimistic, Joslyn picked up on the contrast right away, subtle though it was. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“My feet hurt,” Kendra said, “and still no offer on the chicken farm.”

Joslyn chuckled. “You didn’t change out of those high heels?” she chided. “It’s the law of cause and effect, my friend. And maybe the eighteenth showing will be the charm, and the next great chicken farmer will sign on the dotted line.”

The smile was back in Kendra’s voice. “Right,” she said, with wistful good humor. “Do you happen to have any wine on hand?”

“I beg your pardon? I just moved in, Kendra. I barely have staples.”

“Wine is a staple,” Kendra retorted. “The last client dinner party wiped out what was left of my supply, so I’ll stop for some later, on my way home. We can raise a glass to old times. Red or white?”

Jasper leaned over the back of Joslyn’s seat and ran his tongue along the length of her right cheek. It was a companionable gesture.

She laughed, making a face. “Red, I guess, since it doesn’t have to be chilled. I’m about to cook up a storm, so plan on arriving hungry.”

They set a time—six o’clock—said their goodbyes and hung up.

Joslyn immediately dialed the number etched into her dashboard dust.

Another recording. If the words hadn’t been different, the effect would have been downright eerie.

Hutch sounded almost exactly like his father.

“Leave a message,” he said tersely. “I might call you back and, then again, I might not. It all depends on what you want.”

“I have your father’s dog,” Joslyn said after the beep and then realized the statement sounded like the preamble to a ransom demand. “I mean, it’s Joslyn Kirk calling. You remember, from high school? I’m living in Kendra Shepherd’s guesthouse now, and—well—I found Jasper and I’m sure you’ve been looking for him so—” She paused, blurted out her cell number and snapped the phone shut.

“What a charmer,” she told Jasper wryly.

The lab gave a little whine of commiseration.

“Guess you’ll just have to come home with me for the time being,” she told him with a surge of gladness that surprised her. If there was one thing she didn’t need with her life in suspended animation, it was a dog.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to enjoy Jasper’s company for a few hours. Would it?

After looking carefully in both directions, Joslyn pulled out onto the highway and pointed herself, Jasper and the groceries in the direction of Rodeo Road. It was time to push up her sleeves and get cooking.

* * *

THE REST OF THAT DAY was slow, which was good, Slade supposed, considering the business he was in. He clocked out at five o’clock sharp, something he rarely did, and headed for home.

Letting himself into the one-bedroom duplex he’d rented after his marriage went to hell two weeks after he’d been elected sheriff, he looked around at the minimal furnishings, the bare walls and the scruffy carpet in a color his mother had dubbed “baby poop green.”

The place had never been a home, just a place to wait out a transition—a campsite with walls and windows and a roof.

He hung up his hat, unhooked his badge from his belt and set it aside. He carried a service revolver, but that was locked up in a gun safe under the driver’s seat of his truck.

From the front door, it was a straight shot to the open, one-counter kitchen, a hike of about a dozen feet, give or take.

Slade zeroed in on the refrigerator, which was the same uninspired color as the carpet, opened the door and assessed the contents. Two cans of beer, half a stick of butter and a shriveled slice of pizza from a couple of days back. He should have bought more than a bottle of water back there at Mulligan’s Grocery, he reflected, taking a beer and shutting the fridge door on the dismal selection.

The truth was, he’d been too distracted to think straight ever since the meeting at Maggie Landers’s office that morning, and running into Joslyn Kirk at the grocery store hadn’t helped matters.

He popped the top on the beer, opened the sliding glass door next to the card table that served as a dining area and stepped out onto his miniscule brick patio. The grass needed mowing, and weeds were springing up everywhere.

On the other side of the low concrete-block wall loomed the old Rossiter mansion.

Slade sighed and sank into a beat-up lawn chair to sip his beer. A chuckle rumbled up into his throat as he sat there, watching the dandelions take over what passed for a lawn, and he shook his head.

Damned if he hadn’t gone from solvent to out-and-out rich in the space of a single day. And then there was Joslyn.

A spoiled teenager with a bristly attitude when he’d last seen her, she’d rounded out into a warm-curved woman.

He’d barely squared that thought away in his mind when the familiar yellow dog sprang over the back wall and trotted right up to him.

CHAPTER THREE

JOSLYN WATCHED, TAKEN ABACK, as Jasper, docile since she’d made his acquaintance at Mulligan’s Grocery, suddenly transformed into a bionic robo-dog, streaking through the rose garden and the beds of nodding zinnias to take the rear wall in a single bound and launch himself into the neighboring yard like a missile.

Hutch, having just pulled up in an old pickup truck with mud drying on its sides, stepped down from behind the wheel, took off his hat, tossed it into the vehicle before shutting the door of the rig and grinned, resting his hands on lean hips.

“You reckon this means old Jasper isn’t glad to see me?” he joked.

Joslyn smiled and started toward her old friend. “I don’t know what’s gotten into that dog,” she said. “He’s been on his best behavior since we met up in the parking lot—at first, I even thought he might be a little lame. So much for that theory.”

She started off in pursuit of Jasper then, and Hutch fell into step beside her.

“It’s good to see you again, old buddy,” she told him.

“And you,” Hutch responded gruffly.

Taking a sidelong glance at Hutch’s ruggedly handsome face as they walked, Joslyn was surprised to see that he looked solemn. He was gazing in the direction Jasper had gone, and his mouth had hardened a little.

The grin was definitely a thing of the past.

He shoved a hand through his dishwater-blond hair and came back to himself, as if from some vast distance, just as they reached the gate between Kendra’s property and the rental beyond.

Hutch opened the tall wooden gate with a jerk that made the partially rusted hinges squeal in protest and shouldered his way through.

Joslyn was right behind him. She felt responsible for Jasper—after all, he’d made his great escape on her watch.

Plus, she was curious.

In the old days, the gate had opened onto a vacant lot where she and the other kids in the neighborhood used to play softball. It hadn’t occurred to her to wonder who lived there now that there was a house of sorts.

The sight of Slade Barlow standing on the little patio brought her up short.

So did the silent static immediately arcing between him and Hutch.

Jasper sat next to Slade, a little behind him, panting from the heat and recent exertion, calmly watchful.

“I thought this dog looked familiar,” Slade said quietly, his arms folded as he regarded his father’s son. Everyone knew that Slade and Hutch were half brothers, but it was a subject people whispered about—no one discussed it openly, as far as Joslyn knew.

“I’m here to take Jasper home,” Hutch replied. Every muscle in his back and shoulders seemed tight, from Joslyn’s perspective. He dropped his gaze to the dog, gave a low whistle. “Come on, fella.” He beckoned. “Let’s get going.”

Jasper thumped his tail against the ground a couple of times, but he didn’t move from Slade’s side.

“I’m not sure he’s ready to leave quite yet,” Slade observed. His gaze moved to Joslyn, and he gave a slight nod to acknowledge her presence, his mouth quirking up ever so slightly at one corner, as though something about her amused him.

That got under her skin.

“He belonged to Hutch’s father,” she said helpfully, and immediately wished she’d kept her mouth shut. There was a lot going on here, and it wasn’t entirely about the wall-leaping stray.

“I remember seeing him riding shotgun in Carmody’s truck,” Slade allowed.

Jasper still didn’t move. Neither did Hutch.

Slade made a clicking sound and started in Hutch’s direction, clearly hoping the dog would follow. Jasper stayed put.

Short of picking the animal up bodily and lugging him back through the gate to his pickup, Hutch seemed to be out of options.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

Slade shrugged one powerful shoulder, and Joslyn found herself wondering, incomprehensibly, what he’d look like without a shirt.

To break the spell, she leaned down and patted her palms against her blue-jeaned thighs, summoning Jasper.

“Time to go home,” she cajoled cheerfully.

Jasper merely gazed at her, switched his tail again, just once, and held his ground.

“Suppose I bring Jasper out to the ranch later on,” Slade suggested easily. It was obvious that he was enjoying this little standoff, and that annoyed Joslyn—not that he would have cared whether she was annoyed or not. He was looking directly at Hutch, not at her; she might have been transparent. “I’d like to take a look around anyhow.”

Beside Joslyn, Hutch stiffened slightly. “That figures,” he said, and though he spoke mildly, the remark had a sharp point to it.

Slade didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed intrigued by the situation, charged though it was.